


Private Performance

by INMH



Series: Merry Month of Masturbation Fills (2017) [14]
Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Exhibitionism, M/M, Masturbation, Merry Month of Masturbation Challenge 2017, Sexual Content, Strong Language, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-14
Updated: 2017-05-14
Packaged: 2018-10-29 11:42:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10853283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/INMH/pseuds/INMH
Summary: Jacob puts on a show for Roth.





	Private Performance

The theater’s empty, but as Jacob looks out at the empty seats, he still has this terribly uncomfortable feeling that there are many eyes watching him, rather than just the two that he can see.  
  
“Go on, Jacob,” Roth coos to him like one might croon to an animal, a pet, but there’s a dark edge to it, something hungry and predatory. It sends a chill down Jacob’s spine, more of a ‘beware’ than a ‘take your pants off’ sort of feeling, but he’s never been the cautious Frye, now has he?  
  
Jacob takes a moment to push his pants down a little more. He is laid out precisely as Roth has asked: Shirtless, pants still on but pushed down to his knees, lying on a couch that’s set just to the right of center stage in the Alhambra. His cock’s out, but he hasn’t touched it yet, unnerved by the eyes that are there and the ones that aren’t.  
  
Roth watches him from the front row. Jacob has a feeling that he’s not going to stay there for the duration of the performance.  
  
“And remember, Jacob,” Roth purrs. “The actor must _project_ if they expect to be heard by the audience. They should be able to hear you in the cheap seats.”  
  
Jacob nods absently, gulps, and then takes himself in hand.  
  
For a few minutes, it doesn’t quite work, and Jacob assumes it’s something to do with that disturbing sense of being watched by more than just the man he’s consented to being watched by, because he’s never had a problem working himself up before. As much as the little voice in the back of his mind is shouting at him to _never ever take his eyes off Roth_ , he finally gives in and lets his eyes fall shut.  
  
There are images he can put onto the dark canvas behind his eyes: Audrina, the pretty girl back in Crawley who’d been more than happy to follow Jacob into the odd haystack for a romp after a few drinks. Abigail, whom he’d met a few weeks after coming to London and had gotten, quite possibly, the best blow-job of his life from. There were a number of female names and faces and bodies that bring back considerably pleasurable memories for him.  
  
Only one man, though.  
  
Damon, the man who’d tattooed the falcon onto Jacob’s chest and shoulder, whose eyes had lingered on Jacob’s bare chest in a heated way that, even after thinking on it for a while, Jacob could not explain away as anything but lust. Damon had not been overt with his attentions- there were lingering touches, the skin of his arm brushing over Jacob’s nipples as he worked, and it had taken every piece of Jacob’s willpower (and his hands discreetly covering his crotch) to keep himself from jumping the man.  
  
Jacob’s always been thrilled the most by doing things he shouldn’t be doing, and men fall under that heading.  
  
Really, that’s probably why he’s here, thumbing the slit of his cock and thrusting with an increasing pace into the air: He should most definitely not be masturbating in front of Maxwell Roth, a clearly unstable man whose Blighters Jacob has been killing mercilessly for weeks. Were it permitted, were it a good idea, chances are Jacob would have given the decision more consideration.  
  
He feels good now. The invisible audience around him disappears and even if there _were_ people other than Roth here right now, Jacob’s not sure he’d be able to care about them much. He does, however, care about Roth; Roth who is clearly still watching even if Jacob’s eyes are shut and can’t see him; Roth, with his predatory smile and intense gaze that sends a chill down Jacob’s back.  
  
Without even trying to piece it together on his own, an image rises: Roth’s hands on Jacob’s chest, his stomach, his groin, his cock; Roth’s teeth on his neck; Roth’s fingers digging into his shoulders and _thrusting_ -  
  
“ _Ha_ ,” Jacob croaks, gasps, erratically thrusting up into his hand as pleasure spikes down his spine and directly into his cock.  
  
_I want that,_ he thinks wildly, with a sort of lust-fueled desperation, _I want that. I want him to touch me. I want his hands on my cock. I want him in me. I want it. I want it so badly I could cry._  
  
Jacob’s panting, half-sobbing with every tug and stroke, and he can feel his orgasm coming like a punch from a rival fighter, anticipated but the timing still somewhat unexpected, and he can vaguely hear the sound of the couch scraping against the wooden floor of the stage with the force of his movements.  
  
When orgasm comes, it knocks him for a loop better than any right-hook could, and his vision whites out for a moment.  
  
When Jacob opens his eyes, his heart nearly gives out when he sees Roth standing over him, face flushed, eyes dark and wide.  
  
Blood rushes in Jacob’s ears, a remnant of the high he’s just felt.  
  
It almost sounds like applause.  
  
“Bravo, Jacob,” Roth breathes, lowering his face to Jacob’s. “Bravo.”  
  
-End


End file.
